Dangerously Bound (27 page)

“Ready to see everyone?” he asked, holding on to her elbow as they made their way
up the front steps.

She turned to smile at him. “I can’t wait.”

It was true, even if her stomach had a few gently fluttering butterflies.

He opened the door, and Mick’s father was on the other side, waiting for them.

Emmet Reid was nearly a carbon copy of Mick. He was almost as tall, with the same
dark hair and gray eyes, the same hard, handsome features, if a bit more weathered.
And the same air of command that had helped make him fire chief. Even after being
retired for several years, he still carried himself with a natural air of authority.
But his broad, warm smile was full of welcome as he pulled Allie in for a hug, and
she found herself relaxing into his embrace.

“Allie, it’s been too long since we’ve seen you, girl.” He patted her back and pulled
away to look at her. “I’d heard you’d grown into a fine-looking woman, but my oh my.
No wonder Mick’s so taken with you.”

She glanced at Mick, who rolled his eyes, but he was grinning proudly.

“It’s so good to see you,” Allie said. It was. It was good to be back in their comfortably
familiar house, with its broad wood floors and the familiar lemony scent of furniture
polish.

“Hands off her, Dad. She’s mine.”

Emmet released her, gave Mick a hard clap on the shoulder and waved them through the
living room. “Your mother’s in
the kitchen. Go say hello to her. Everyone else is out back. Which is where I should
be, tending my grill. I have some gator sausage going that’ll set your tongue on fire—so
hot it’ll take all my boys and me to put the flames out.”

She caught Mick’s silent wince. She knew he hated when his father in particular made
reference to his other sons being firefighters. Not that Mick begrudged any of them.
But she knew he still felt it like a stab to the chest that he hadn’t been able to
be a part of that noble family tradition.

They moved into the kitchen, where Mick’s mother—still a beauty with a head of gorgeous
dark curls even in her sixties—was spooning coleslaw from an enormous Tupperware container
into a festive plastic bowl. She set it down and wiped her hands on her apron, coming
around the counter to take Allie in her arms.

“Oh, honey, I’m so glad you’re here. Thank you for joining us.”

“Thank you so much for inviting me, Maureen.”

“Of course.” Mick’s mother let her go and looked her over. “All grown up. I can remember
you at sixteen like it was yesterday. How’s your mother doing?”

“She’s just fine. Still up at four a.m. every morning to bake, same as always.”

“Good. That’s good. Mick, you come give your mother a kiss.”

He leaned down to place a kiss on her cheek.

“Has he been nice to you, Allie?”

“He has. You’ve trained him well.”

“That’s my boy,” Maureen said, beaming. “Now, what can I get you to drink? Sweet tea?
Lemonade?”

“A cold beer for us both, I think, Mom. Allie? Yes? I’ll get it.”

“I’d heard Allister did your kitchen remodel,” Allie said as
Mick grabbed two bottles from the refrigerator. “It’s gorgeous. He’s started work
on my place. I can’t wait for the dust to settle, especially if it turns out anything
like yours.”

“Thank you, honey. I’m thrilled with it. And Mick told me about the work being done
on your house. I’m awfully sorry about your aunt Joséphine, by the way. You weren’t
close with her, were you?”

“I don’t think anyone was. I’m not even sure why she left the house to me. Maybe because
I was the only relative left in the States, although she did have some family in France.”

Maureen took her hand and looked her in the eye. “Some things are just meant to be.”

She resisted the urge to pull away and smiled instead. “Yes, I guess they are.”

“You two go on out back and see the rest of the family. Allie, you haven’t even met
my grandson, have you?”

“I haven’t.”

Mick reached into the bowl and pulled out a piece of cabbage, stuffed it into his
mouth. Maureen gave his hand a slap. “Go on, now. I’ve got work to do in here.”

“Can I help with anything?” Allie asked.

“Don’t be silly—you know I have control issues when it comes to my kitchen. You go
visit. Enjoy yourself. I’ll be out in a bit.”

“Come on.”

Mick took her hand and led her through the pantry and out the back door that led to
the screened-in deck. She smelled the sausage and shrimp cooking on the grill right
away, mixed with the summer scent of the sun hitting the green leaves of the big lacebark
elm that grew in the Reids’ yard. Marie Dawn was next to her in a moment, pulling
her away from Mick to greet his brothers. Gareth and Nolan both looked a bit more
like their
mother’s side of the family, with rounder features and her blue eyes. They introduced
her to Nolan’s fiancée, Katie, and Gareth’s wife, Leanne. Their teenage son, Colby,
was throwing a Frisbee on the grass for Emmet and Maureen’s old yellow lab, Scratch,
who had been a puppy the last time she’d seen him.

She felt that sense of family right down to her bones—the bond they all shared. It
was one of the things she and Mick had in common. Except that he always held a part
of himself at a distance from the people she knew wanted to love him, to take him
in and accept him completely. She could almost sense his walls coming up the moment
they’d walked in the door.

Did he live with that pressure constantly? Carry it nearly every day of his life?

“Come and talk wedding stuff with Katie,” Marie Dawn said, pulling Allie out of her
musing to sit with the Reid family’s newest member-to-be. Katie was a lovely young
woman, sweet and friendly, and it was easy for Allie to lose herself in discussions
about wedding cakes and flowers.

By the time the food was ready, she was much more relaxed, remembering what it felt
like to be at home in this house as if by muscle memory. Everyone ate at long wooden
trestle tables set up in the yard under a tent of mosquito netting. There was a veritable
feast: the promised barbequed shrimp and spicy alligator sausage, Maureen’s coleslaw
and cornbread and icy lemonade, red beans and rice, and pecan pie for dessert. Allie
ate until she couldn’t move, and everyone but Colby stayed at the table for hours,
telling all the old stories about New Orleans’s great fires and the Reid men being
there to battle the flames. Gareth was cajoled into showing off his scar from a bad
warehouse fire that had almost gotten him killed saving a fellow firefighter from
a back draft, and all of Emmet’s sons talked with pride about their father having
served the city for almost forty years.

Everyone except Mick.

He sat beside Allie like stone. He tried to smile, to nod his head, but the fact that
he couldn’t be an integral part of the conversation was killing him, she knew. The
family didn’t do it on purpose, of course, and she understood there was no way they
could have ignored Emmet, Gareth, Nolan and Neal’s accomplished careers in the department.
But for the first time she came to understand how it must grate on Mick’s nerves,
like drilling on a bad tooth, every time the family got together. She hurt for him.

“Mick,” Maureen started, turning to him, “tell us about the time you saved that young
girl from being trampled to death at that concert.” She glanced at Allie, pride and
something else in her blue eyes. “He was bruised all over by the time he got her out,
but there wasn’t a scratch on the girl. Her parents sent him so many thank-you cards
you’d think they bought stock in the company.”

“No, Mom. It’s Dad’s day.”

“Ah, come on, Mick,” Neal urged, jostling his shoulder. “It was pretty damn heroic.”

Mick just shook his head and raised the bottle of beer he’d been nursing all day.
“To Dad. Happy Father’s Day, chief.”

“To Dad,” the entire family echoed.

There was much clinking of bottles and plastic cups, then everyone fell into different
conversations, including Mick and Neal. But Allie was acutely aware of what that bad
moment had cost him.

Eventually the party broke up and they said their good-byes, Maureen making Allie
promise she’d come by the house again, and Katie having gotten Allie’s number to talk
more about making her wedding cake.

Mick was quiet on the drive back to his place. Or, she’d
thought they were heading to his place, but he took a turn that led into her neighborhood.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“I’m taking you home.”

“But . . .” She paused, chewing on her lip for a moment. “Mick? Do we ever see each
other and not spend the night if you’re not going out of town?”

He kept his eyes on the road. “I guess not.”

“So, this is different because . . . ?”

When he didn’t answer she looked out the window, waiting. He was quiet as they passed
a row of houses laced with scaffolding, another row of homes that had been newly rebuilt.
There were shops on the next block, one a produce market with stands on the sidewalk,
stacked high with melons and cabbage and beans, oranges and peppers in every imaginable
color. She was glad to see the city had gained so much of its old vibrancy.

She wondered if Mick ever would.

When they got to her place, he parked and sat staring out the front windshield.

“Are you coming in, at least?” she asked.

“I’d rather you not see this.”

“See what, Mick?”

She laid a hand on his arm but felt him stiffen under her touch.

He shook his head.

She waited.

After a few moments she said quietly, “You know, I’m not getting out of this truck
until you give me some sort of answer.”

“I kind of figured you wouldn’t, you being you.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re stubborn as hell, Allie.”

“I thought you liked that about me.”

“Maybe a little less right now.”

That stung.

“Fuck you, Mick,” she said quietly.

He whipped his head around. “What did you say?” His eyes were blazing.

“You heard me.” Anger was hot in her veins suddenly, burning her up inside. “You and
your surly attitude. I used to think it was sexy. Damn it, maybe I still do. But I
don’t like it one bit when it’s turned on me. When it’s turned on
us
. I get it. I have some family issues, too, you know, but maybe you’re too caught
up in your own shit to notice. So go on. You do whatever you need to do about your
issues—indulge in your juvenile desire to get your face bashed in or whatever the
hell helps you get it out of your system—but don’t take it out on me.” Her hands fisted
at her sides. “Don’t you do it, Mick.”

He looked stunned. Then his tight features relaxed, his mouth going wide until there
was nothing short of a grin there.

“Are you laughing at me?” she asked in shock.

“Maybe I’m laughing at me. But Lord, were you mad.”

“Maybe I still am,” she said, not entirely certain herself.

He watched her for several long moments, then he launched himself at her.

It wouldn’t have been possible had his truck been any smaller, but in seconds he was
on top of her, having pushed her down on the seat, and he was kissing her hard, one
hand fisted in her hair, holding on tight.

She tried to push him off her, but she may as well have been shoving at a brick wall.
He kissed her harder, his tongue pushing its way into her mouth, and he tasted of
beer and spices and only a little of quickly recovering ego.

*   *   *

M
ICK PULLED BACK,
watching her. He’d felt her surrender, had forced past her stubbornness and her anger
to get there. But she was still pissed, he could tell from the way her fingers dug
into his shoulders, still pretending to push him away.

“You angry with me, baby?”

“Yes.”

“You’re damn pretty when you’re mad.”

“Didn’t we talk about condescension being a hard limit?” she asked, only partly fake
fuming.

“We did not.”

“We should have,” she muttered.

He grabbed her and pulled her closer, heard her small gasp as he lifted her hand and
bit into her palm.

“We can have that talk in bed. While I’m fucking you into a better mood.”

“My mood was just fine! Yours is the one that sucked.”

“I never specified whose mood we’d be improving.”

“But . . .” she sputtered. “Whatever.”

“Whatever what?” he demanded.

“Whatever . . . Sir?” She rolled her eyes, but there was a small grin on her face.

“Ah, that’s my girl. Come on.”

He got out and pulled her, sliding her across the seat and out his side of the truck.
He took her hand and hurried up the walk, took her keys from her and opened the door,
slamming it shut behind them. He led her into the kitchen.

“You. Here,” he ordered, yanking her in hard, until he could feel every soft female
curve pressed up against him. His cock went rock-hard.

She was a little breathless already. She licked her lips. He leaned in and bit them—he
couldn’t resist.

“Mmm.”

She smelled so damn good—he could smell the sun on her skin, in her hair. He reached
behind her and pulled out the clip, and she shook her long tresses free. He buried
his face in her hair, inhaled. Dug his fingers in and pulled tight.

He whispered in her ear, “I’m going to fuck you over the kitchen table, princess.
Take your panties off.”

He let her go and she took one step back, lifted her dress to reach under it, bent
and came back up with a small handful of pink lace. He took them from her and tossed
them on the floor before turning her roughly and bending her over the edge of the
small, round table, using a hand to press her down onto the wood surface until her
cheek laid there.

“Mick . . .”

“Shh.”

He flipped the hem of her dress up, baring her perfectly rounded ass, pulled open
the buttoned fly of his cargo pants and pulled his cock out. Christ, he was so hard
it hurt. Had to be inside her.

“Spread,” he told her, and she complied.